Under The Eagle

'Yes.' Cato winced at the image. 'My lady, I can't tell you how glad I am to see a familiar face in this place.'

'Come, let's sit.' Flavia settled on to her husband's couch and patted the space beside her. Cato looked around but no-one seemed to be paying undue attention. He had been in the army long enough to feel uncomfortable about social intercourse between widely different ranks.

'Now, Cato, you must tell me how it's going. I can't imagine how you, of all people, have ended up here. It must be quite a change in lifestyle?'

Cato, uncomfortably aware of Macro sitting just to his side, phrased his response carefully.

'Yes, my lady, quite a change. But it seems to be a good enough life, and should be the making of me.'

Flavia raised her eyebrows. 'You really have changed, haven't you?'

'May I introduce my centurion to you?' Cato rose slightly to indicate Macro.

'Ma'am.' Macro nodded politely as he wiped the grease from his lips with the back of his hand. 'Lucius Cornelius Macro, commanding the Sixth Century, Fourth Cohort,' he continued automatically.

'Pleased to meet you, centurion. I trust you are looking after my friend?'

'Hmm. No more or less than any other of my men,' Macro replied resentfully. 'In any case, the lad can look after himself.'

'So I've heard. Now then, Cato, you must fill me in on what's been going on in the palace since I left.'

As Cato talked, Macro hovered on the brink of the conversation until boredom set in. With a shrug he turned back to his food and made the most of the unaccustomed luxury of the feast before him. For her part Flavia listened intently and interrupted Cato with frequent questions about the endless rise and fall of sundry palace officials. At length she had pumped Cato dry of information and leaned back on one arm.

'So, the same seething hotbed of scandal and intrigue that it ever was. That much has not changed.'

'Indeed, it's almost impossible to avoid the gossip.'

'I have to admit I really miss Rome.'

'You could have stayed there, my lady. It's not unknown for legates to leave their wives at home while on active service.'

'True, but I've found Rome a little uncomfortable since that nasty business with Scribonianus in Dalmatia last year. Too many people spending their time denouncing others as conspirators. It's put quite a dampener on the social scene – you have no idea how much of a challenge it is pla

Cato nodded. 'By the time I left the palace I'd heard that Claudius had already signed over a hundred death warrants. I'm sure there can't be many conspirators left by now.'

'Narcissus has been a busy man, it would appear.'

'And a very important one since Claudius put him in charge of the imperial general staff.'

'Has Narcissus changed much since I left?'

'Not that you'd notice,' Cato replied. 'But most people are careful what they say around him these days – now that he has the Emperor's ear.'

'Does he still look the same?' asked Flavia, absently gazing at her fingers as they stretched the hem of her palla.

Cato reflected a moment before replying. 'A little greyer around the temples but not so different from when you knew him.'

'I see- I see. And I trust our little secret is still safe?' she asked softly.

He had been expecting the question for some time and nodded as he looked her firmly in the eye and replied. 'Quite safe, my lady. I gave you my word. It still stands and will until I die.'

'Thank you.'

An embarrassing silence settled between them as they both thought back to the night of a terrible storm raging over Rome, when a little boy, scared out of his wits by the thunder and lightning, had huddled in the corner of a small ante-room where a man and a woman were coupling in the glare of light flashing through the windows. Later, when the man had gone, Flavia discovered Cato trembling in the corner of the room. For a brief moment she had simply stared at him, afraid of the consequences of what he must have seen. Seizing his shoulders, she had sworn him to secrecy. Then, seeing the elemental terror in his expression, some instinct awoke inside her and she'd shielded his small body from the storm as best she could. Afterwards, despite the social gulf between them, she had felt a sense of responsibility for Cato and seen that he was well cared for by the other palace slaves. Then she had left the imperial household and met Vespasian.

Flavia decided to move the conversation on to safer ground. 'Now, Cato, what do you miss most about Rome?'

'The libraries,' he answered without hesitation. 'The nearest I get to a good read here is some weather-beaten army manual. When I left Rome I was reading Livy's histories. It'll be a while before I get a chance to continue them.'

'Histories!' Flavia exclaimed. 'What on earth are you reading histories for? I thought you young men liked poetry – Lucretius, Catullus, Ovid – that sort of thing.'

'Ovid is a little hard to come by, my lady,' Cato reminded her. 'In any case, I'm afraid my tastes are a bit conservative. I've only really bothered with Virgil.'

'Virgil's such a boring old stick,' Flavia complained. 'Not an ounce of feeling, or empathy. It's just turgid elegance.'

'I really must disagree. I find him quite sublime at times – able to put concepts into words in a timeless way. When all today's cheap romantic poets are mere shadows in the memory of men, Virgil will still be a vibrant influence flowing down through the centuries.'

'Most poetically phrased, Cato, but do you speak of time or legionaries?'

'Hardly the latter.' Cato laughed with the legate's wife. 'Literary aesthetics are not foremost in the minds of such men.'

'Pass the mice,' Macro interrupted.

'Yes, sir,' Cato responded guiltily. 'There you are, sir.'

'Do you read much?' Flavia asked Macro. 'I ask only to reassure myself that Cato here is a bit wide of the mark. I can't believe that my husband's officers would ignore the muses.'

'Ma'am?'

'Do you read poetry, Centurion?'

'Not often, ma'am, I'm too busy most of the time.'

'But you do read poetry,' Flavia insisted.

'Of course, ma'am.'

'So who's your favourite?'

'Who's my favourite? Well, let me think. Probably that chap young Cato just mentioned.'

'Really?' Flavia frowned. 'And which of Virgil's works do you rate most highly?'

'Difficult question, ma'am. I think all of his stuff is good.'

'Coward!' laughed Flavia. 'Frankly, I doubt whether you have read anything of his, or any poet, for that matter. In fact, I doubt whether you read at all.'

She laughed again, but Macro looked down at his food in silence and Cato, sensed his centurion's acute discomfort.

'Shhh!' Flavia raised a finger to her lips. 'I think the legate is about to speak.'

Sure enough Vespasian downed the last of his wine and stood up. He tipped a wink to the majordomo who ordered the servants to quickly distribute the decanters of Falernian to all tables. Then he rapped his staff down on to the mosaic floor. The room slowly fell silent as all eyes turned to the head table. Vespasian waited for complete quiet before he began to speak.

'Gentlemen, and ladies, it ca

If Vespasian was expecting some excited response he was to be disappointed. Many officers in the room looked away in embarrassment, shuffling uncomfortably. One or two polite souls did try and look surprised, as if this was indeed news to them, but they were seen through in an instant, and Vespasian continued with an evident sourness to his tone.